A Perfect Weakness Page 3

  “Wouldn’t it be easier for them to go through the front door?”

  “They’ll enter through the servants’ entrance at the back of the house,” Parker said. “You always were one to question our customs, my lord, if I may be so bold.”

  “So you do remember me.”

  “It is hard to forget a man who refused to let me do my job for the first two weeks.” He tilted his head. “I trust that won’t be the case now?”

  “I’m still an American, Parker. I can’t promise to do everything as an Englishman would, but I’ll do my best not to start another revolution.” He extended his hand, but Parker frowned at it. “Please.”

  As if a weight were attached, Parker offered his in return, and John gave it a quick shake. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you, my lord.”

  The warmth in his voice hinted to the less formal man John had once known. “When did you become butler here?”

  “Mr. Gates, my predecessor, retired about a year after you left the country. The butler at Ashford House was still in his prime, and so Lord Renshaw decided to give me the position.”

  “It’s good to see a familiar face.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, this is your first time seeing Ashford Hall,” Parker said. “The estate agent, Mr. Howard, and his sister meant to be here when you arrived, but they’ve been delayed. Allow me to show you the house while you wait.”

  A tour? No. Couldn’t he sit without being bounced around every few seconds?

  “Actually, I’m tired. Can it wait? I would really just like to find a quiet place to sit.”

  “If you wish, my lord.” The butler smiled. “In fact, I know the very place.”

  “Thank you.”

  Parker extended his arm, and John preceded him up the steps and through the double doors.

  His hands clenched. An airy front hall paved with marble and edged with engaged columns frowned on him as if challenging his right to take ownership.

  Parker led him to a door to their immediate left. He opened it and stood back for John to enter.

  There were no walls, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead, there were shelves upon shelves of books broken only by windows which offered a view of the front drive. To the right were more books and a fireplace banked with wingback chairs and a comfortable sofa.

  “This first section is for more leisurely reading.”

  John started. “The first section?”

  “Yes, sir. Beyond those columns and around the corner to the left is the section devoted to more scholarly pursuits.”

  Beyond the smooth, marbled pillars stood more shelves of books. The next section beyond the columns was considerably larger.

  By a whole second story.

  The length of the room was almost equal to that of the gallery and boasted shelves so tall a spiral metal staircase in each far corner rose to the narrow balconies running along its sides. A long carved wooden table with matching chairs dominated the center of the space, like a dining room table. More wingback chairs dotted the margins for good measure. Parker opened a set of double doors which divided the shelves at the rear of the room.

  “Another section?” John asked.

  “A study. It was, of course, Lord Renshaw’s before he passed. He did all his estate business here with Mr. Howard.”

  John walked in. There were more shelves filled with books, but they did not encompass every inch of wall space. A large wooden desk stood before a window that looked out to the rear of the house, and paintings lined the upper portion of the wall. What a grand library.

  “Will this do, my lord?” Parker asked.

  “Yes, very much.” This would more than do. He’d sleep in here if he thought he could get away with it.

  “I’m sure you will be pleased to see this as well, sir.” Parker gestured to his right. “Before he died, Lord Renshaw asked that these volumes be moved here from the outer room.”

  Medical titles both old and new filled the shelves. The latest edition of Gray’s Anatomy. Bound past issues of The Lancet. And there on the desk sat the most recent edition of the medical journal.

  He closed his fists. “Move them back where they were.”

  “My lord?”

  He picked up the medical journal and handed it to him. “And please see about canceling this subscription.”

  The butler paused for the barest of moments before taking it. “Will that be all for now, my lord?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Parker didn’t understand. How could he? It was clear William had told him what to expect from his heir, and he wasn’t living up to it. Nothing he could do about that. Parker and the staff would have to accept it.

  But he could see what novels this library contained. He ambled back out to the front section and perused the shelves. Mallory, Hawthorne, Whitman, Carroll, Dickens, Thackeray, Bronte, Austen, Blake, Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Tennyson—a man could read for a solid year and not get through everything this one section contained. He reached for A Tale of Two Cities, then paused. He’d never read it, and nothing kept him from doing so right now. Except the Lancet.

  No. He wasn’t going to ask Parker to bring it back. He wasn’t. He snatched the Dickens and read and re-read It was the best of times, it was the worst of times … before snapping the book down. He jumped from the chair and left the library. That tour sounded better after all.

  CHAPTER 4

  The look of concerned irritation on Thomas’ face was the first thing Penelope noticed when they pulled up in front of Fairview. But the irritation vanished the moment he got a good look at them.

  “What on earth happened to you? Where’s Bessie?”

  “Never mind Bessie. Miss Penelope fell trying to rescue, of all things, a cat,” Hannah blustered.

  “What? Where?”

  “The Castle,” Penelope replied as her brother helped her down. “Bessie threw a shoe, and her leg is lame. Mr. Briggs kindly lent us his mare.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “Never mind that.” Hannah rounded the cart and took hold of Penelope’s arm. “You need to get yourself to the Hall to meet the new lord. She needs to give this wrist a good long soak.”

  “Word came from the Hall almost twenty minutes ago that Lord Turner arrived,” Thomas said. “I sent a note to say that we would be late. But I imagine you won’t be coming with me as planned, old girl.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Penelope replied. “Hannah, thank you. I’ll come to the kitchen as soon as I’ve changed. I’m sorry if I scared you.” And she had scared the woman who took such good care of her and Thomas. Color only now returned to her cheeks.

  “Humph.” But the noise held a note of warmth. “Just you watch yourself next time.” She walked inside.

  “Change?” Thomas asked.

  Penelope lifted the edge of the cloak and revealed her muddy dress. “But first I want to add a note of apology to the welcome basket I prepared for Lord Turner.” When Thomas glanced at his pocket watch, she added, “I won’t take long, I promise.”

  In the study, cheese, fresh bread, and last fall’s jams sat in a basket she had prepared earlier that morning. After pulling paper from a drawer, she dipped Thomas’ pen into the inkwell. It didn’t take long to scratch out her regrets, though she lingered as she folded and sealed her note.

  Should she tell Thomas she met him? No, there was little point in that. She could just imagine that conversation at the Hall. “Oh, by the way, that bedraggled woman you met along the road earlier today was my sister. So sorry she couldn’t come.” Not the impression she wished to make. She would meet him neat, cleaned up, and ready to make a good first impression.

  His arrival still didn’t seem credible, though. That or the fact he had left America so soon after being located. Mr. Smith’s message a scant two weeks ago had been sparse on detail and left her, at least, with questions. What had the doctor done with his practice, and what about his patients? What sort of doctor would or could j
ust pick up and leave? Mr. Smith mentioned he had registered him with the General Counsel in London, so he must mean to practice here.

  Her brother lifted the cloth on the basket and read the label on a jar of jam. “You know this wasn’t really necessary. This all gets sent over anyway. Mrs. Lynch already has jars of this in the Ashford Hall stores.”

  “I doubt Parker will be taking him through the stores when he shows him the house.” She placed the note in the basket. “My aim is to show him what the Home Farm does by giving him a sample of what it produces for the use of the Hall. He may have lived in England before, but that was in London, and he won’t know anything about our country ways. I only regret I won’t get a chance to see him taste that jam. He’s sure to be hungry after his long journey.”

  Thomas rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “He’s a man, old girl. I doubt jam will be the first thing on his mind after traveling thousands of miles by both land and sea.”

  “Oh? You’re always glad for your tea and biscuits after your trips to Somerset.” She attempted to give him the basket with just her good hand, but it was too heavy.

  “I won’t leave it, don’t worry.” He sorted through the satchel on his desk with a deep “v” between his brows. This was going to be a hard day for him, all things considered.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be that late.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I know you were angry about the estate.”

  “The estate? Why?”

  “Uncle William didn’t leave things exactly as you hoped.” She’d noticed his clenched fists when Mr. Smith went over the will.

  “Ah, Uncle’s will. I was never angry.”

  “You seemed to be.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry if I made you think so.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Why should I be angry? Uncle William left me Fairview and a good job. I’m just worried you might be angry.”

  “Me?” She gaped at him. “How could I ever be cross with Uncle William?”

  “You were given nothing. The entirety of Ashford Hall and its assets are unentailed, his to give as he chose, and he left you nothing.”

  It had been odd, Uncle William not leaving her anything. But then he had done so much for her already. If it weren’t for him, where would her angel be resting? The bottom of the Thames? She cleared her throat. “Not ‘nothing.’ I still get to serve the Hall. That is inheritance enough.”

  “Assuming the new lord hasn’t brought a wife with him.”

  “Yes, of course.” He hadn’t. He had been the only one in the coach. However, that did not mean someone wouldn’t follow later. “But I assume even if Lord Turner has a wife or sister, I will still be permitted to remain living here in your grand home. Uncle knew you would never turn me out into the cold.”

  “As you’re my sister, I suppose I must allow it.” He dodged her playful slap on the arm. “Why do you do so much? Seeing to the Hall’s tenants and helping Mr. Gregory with the boys’ school and the church festivals, not to mention the cottage hospital.”

  “Thomas, you know I can’t help it. I need to, like Mother always did.”

  “You’d curl up and die if you didn’t, I suppose.” He nodded at her hand which she held close to her waist. “Hopefully, that won’t slow you down.”

  “This? I’ll be fine in a day or two. It won’t even keep me from doing my regular visits tomorrow.”

  “‘Regular visits’? What were you doing today?”

  “I wanted to call on Mr. Fletcher and make sure he was doing all right.”

  “Why did you stop at the Castle?”

  Her mouth went dry. “No particular reason. We were a little early, and I wanted to stop.”

  “I haven’t been there in ages. Is that huge tree still there near the wall?”

  “Yes.” Before he could ask more, she went on, “At any rate, this poor kitten wandered into the square tower and got itself stuck.” She told him the rest.

  “Hmm. The paths are slippery in there when it rains.” He raised his brow and gave her a grin. “Good thing you’re a tough old girl.”

  “Yes, good thing.” She rubbed her sore wrist. There was a time when he would have shown more concern. That time she had fallen in front of the house when they were children. Who had cried more? At least he still had faith in her. That was something. Wasn’t it?

  She drew a little closer. Where was his tie pin? “Where is the tie pin Uncle William left you? I thought you meant to wear it today.”

  “I know,” he said. “I lost it yesterday trying to get the cart out of a rut.”

  “How awful! Where did it get stuck? I could look for it tomorrow.”

  “I doubt it. I was just south of Highclere. I’ll send word I lost it in case it’s found.”

  Highclere? “What business did you have being there when you needed to get ready for Lord Turner’s arrival?”

  Her brother’s blue eyes darkened slightly, and his Vandyke beard bristled as he set his jaw.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. You know I didn’t mean to sound like Papa.”

  Paper snapped as he rolled up his map of the estate and meticulously placed it in its leather tube.

  “You run the estate as well as he did, if not better. If he were here, he would be proud.”

  Thomas stilled. “Would he? He would say that?”

  Silence hung about them heavier than a London fog. She traced a finger along the edge of the desk. “He was never one to give praise lightly.”

  “He was never one to give praise at all.” Hurt edged his rigid voice. “Especially to me.”

  Why hadn’t their father been able to accept Thomas for who he was? The quiet, fastidious man had striven to make his life like a well-oiled machine. But Thomas had been a faulty part, and Papa had never hesitated to remind him of that fact. His sharp words and criticism were meant to be tools to set her brother to rights. Instead, they reinforced the notion that while Papa might have loved Thomas, he never really liked him.

  Penelope went about righting the mess she’d made on Thomas’ desk. A leather-bound book revealed itself from beneath a spare sheet of paper. Was that what she thought it was? She brushed her fingers across the cover. She started to open it, but his hand suddenly came down on top of it, his face soft yet inscrutable.

  “I had time yesterday. You were off visiting Mrs. Reynolds.”

  “I’m sorry. Could I see what you have done? Or is it not ready for mortal eyes?”

  The fanciful phrase from their youth eased the tension. His mouth twitched before a small smile appeared.

  “No. Not yet.” He scooped up the book and stuffed it in his satchel before taking hold of the basket. “I need to go.”

  Penelope followed him to the door and watched as he drove the cart down the drive. Let Lord Turner be pleased with Thomas and bother to tell him so.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Are you sure, my lord?” Mr. Howard asked John as they rode down the lane from the Hall the next morning. “It’s rather unconventional.”

  “I’m an American. Lord Renshaw once told me being unconventional is one of our defining characteristics.” John shifted in his saddle. “We’re about the same age, and calling you Mr. Howard or Howard doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Call me Thomas.”

  “Good. And you may call me John.” He adjusted the reins in his hands. “Thank you for taking me around to see some of the tenants on such short notice. I hope I didn’t make trouble for your wife.”

  “My pleasure, but I’m not married,” Thomas said. “My sister helps me run Fairview.”

  “And Fairview is the Home Farm?”

  “Correct.”

  His breath caught in his throat. It was still incredible he owned so much. Aside from the Hall, he had property in Somerset, the town of Southampton, and the Isle of Wight. And then Fairview, the Home Farm, raised all of the Hall’s food. Though he owned the f
arm but not the house. That had gone to Thomas. And his sister, it seemed.

  “What else does your sister do?”

  “The question is what doesn’t she do,” Thomas replied with a snort. “Aside from helping our reverend, Mr. Gregory, with a number of projects, she also visits the tenants on the Hall’s behalf.”

  “She visits on the Hall’s behalf?”

  “It’s all very proper, I assure you. She’s at an age that there is really no need for a chaperone, especially here in the country. Although our housekeeper does accompany the old girl sometimes.”

  So she was his older sister then. Good. “I’m sure everything is done appropriately. But is there really a need for someone other than you to visit them?”

  “Maybe not as often as she does, but then she likes to be helpful. It’s tradition for the lady of the manor to call on those tenants who are ill or less fortunate. My mother did it in my aunt’s place since her health was poor, and my sister inherited the responsibly from her.” He cocked his head at John. “You are aware my aunt was the late Lady Renshaw?”

  “Yes, Parker mentioned it.”

  “It’s not the usual arrangement. If you had a wife or a sister, she would be expected to take it on. There are those who say my sister should be turning her attention to something more suited to her age, but as I said, she draws such satisfaction from everything she does for the Hall and for Woodley.” He shrugged. “I haven’t the heart to stop her.”

  “Do some of the tenants have a problem with her?”

  “Oh, no, the tenants and those who rent from you in Woodley couldn’t be happier. But Mrs. Baines of Hartsbury Manor has complained to me before. It’s nothing to concern you.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to make things complicated.” That was the last thing he needed.

  “Mrs. Baines is in a very small minority.” Humor edged his voice. “You should worry more that she has a niece, a Miss Isabella Abbott, whom she and her brother, Sir James, want to get married off.”